


we've got chemistry

by SayAnythingGrace



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Jim is pretty mentally ill, M/M, Older Sebastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:25:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SayAnythingGrace/pseuds/SayAnythingGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty is a nineteen year old Chemistry student looking to start his own business. Sebastian Moran may just be the washed up military man he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to trigger warn for *slight* violence--i don't like to write anything too gore-y but obviously there's going to be some sniping involved. also, Jim is pretty mentally ill, so there will be mention of OCD tendencies, mood swings, self harm, and shitty eating habits. if that stuff triggers you, please don't read!

Sebastian Moran is thirty four old and hasn’t shaved in three months. His scruff is uneven because he’s got one massive scar on his right cheek and the hair can’t grow over it. It seems to bother most people, but it doesn’t bother him. 

He’s been bored for four years, now. There isn’t much that can compare with the ongoing excitement of war in Afghanistan. While his skin still pricks at any loud noise, his eyes still find the tops of buildings only to wonder what it would be like to stand up there and look own through a scope. To take aim and fire. 

He’s dabbled, of course. He’s had to learn that when it comes to killing, it’s impossible to quit cold turkey. He had every intention to after his discharge, but it’s like a drug. Sebastian is the worst kind of addict. He chases it, yearns for it, and feels it build up steady pressure against his chest. 

And after all, is it the addict’s most terrible affliction to chase the thing that ails them.

***

Most geniuses are only smart when it comes to one thing. They can be totally, completely hopeless in all other subjects and have virtually no knowledge about how to live as a human being. James Moriarty took pride in the fact that he was one of the more well rounded geniuses he’d ever met. It started with Chemistry, which he loved. When he wasn't thinking about Chemistry, he was thinking about his business, which inevitably led back to Chemistry. It started with Chemistry, but quickly expanded into other avenues: business, law, politics, crime. 

He learned his manipulation tactics from his mother, and all else from textbooks. 

He was one semester into his Chemistry degree when he started nabbing bits from the lab next to the one that employed him in his university. He was new, scrawny, and nervous looking. Plus, he didn’t even work in that lab. No one suspected him, and he was extremely careful about the frequency in which he stole things. He would work out a synthesis in his makeshift lab in his flat using stolen chemicals. If his percent yield was high, he would invest in buying them online. 

Police and authorities are much more concerned if you’re buying twenty containers of sudafed rather than phenylacetone, ethanol, and ammonia from a chemical lab retailer online. 

Once he realized what he was cooking up was infinitely better than what they were actually selling on the streets, he didn’t waste any time. Gillis was the man in charge, and he wasn’t exactly difficult to track down. He seemed to make himself readily available and was extremely enthusiastic about new “partners”. Anyone to do more of the work so he could profit and take more of the drugs. It was a wonder that no one had killed him sooner. For about two months Jim had taken on the role of what Gillis liked to call, intern. 

He began meeting with people, doing the dirty jobs Gillis was doing but would rather not be doing. He was networking, and everyone underground was beginning to know his face. He perfected his synthesis and began to produce in bulk, mixing his stuff in with what Gillis was receiving from his own outside source. 

When James decided that he had to kill Gillis, he was about three months in. He was balancing his school work, his university job, and his business venture just fine. His course work barely took anything out of him in comparison to what was being asked of him in the underground network. He decided Gillis was too stupid to continue, to take it where James needed it to go. 

James watched Gillis try every batch that slipped through their hands before hitting the streets. It would have been too easy to poison him, he was already trusted by Gillis so much. James liked games, and he needed to do a little networking, anyway. 

***

It’s not severely uncommon in Sebastian’s line of work to get anonymous jobs. No one wants to interview a sniper. No one wants to be in the same room with you after they find out you’ve killed other humans for sport. 

Sebastian had received very vague assignment details. There was a date, a time, and a place, but no real specifics. Vague directions and anonymous senders were big parts of Sebastian’s life. Money was wired into his bank account from other international accounts, and that was how he was paid. It was never an issue for him to have to wonder whether he would actually get paid. The kinds of people employing him understand exactly who they’re employing. 

His shoulder ached where the rifle fell, but it didn’t bother him. He quite liked it, it was a comfortable ache that he had gotten used to. He had small earplugs tucked in his ears, everything he heard was muffled. The only thing he could hear clearly was the sound of his own heartbeat. The adrenaline rush never went away. The gravel of the rooftop our into his knees through his jeans, but he barely felt it. 

He had received a single picture of the man he was assignment to kill. He was to be at this spot at exactly 11:34 pm, and this man was to come out of the building that was closest, facing east. He was to shoot him and leave, clean up would be taken care of, security footage would be taken care of. 

Like clock work, the man stumbled out of the building at 11:34. Sebastian didn’t even have a reason to hesitate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to trigger warn for *slight* violence--i don't like to write anything too gore-y but obviously there's going to be some sniping involved. also, Jim is pretty mentally ill, so there will be mention of OCD tendencies, mood swings, self harm, and shitty eating habits. if that stuff triggers you, please don't read!

At 11:30, James called Gillis and requested his assistance downtown. Not just requested, insisted. At 11:34, Gillis stumbled out of his building. James sat back and watched the whole thing on the CCTV. He watched Sebastian set up to take his mark, watched the man calculate the distance between his gun and the target in the quick second before the target landed in position.

He squirmed in his seat the entire time, eyes glued to the monitor. He wished he was there, standing behind his sniper. He watched Sebastian methodically pack up while he pressed his palm to the front of his jeans. 

After a shot, Sebastian habitually went to the only bar in London he hadn’t been kicked out of yet. He left his rifle, all taken apart and packed up, in a safe he kept in the boot of his car. 

The bar was arguable the most disgusting bar Sebastian had ever been in, and he’d seen his fair share of shitty bars. The music was bad, and always a little too loud. The bartender was only good at pouring rum and opening beers. Aside from when Sebastian visited, there never seemed to be anyone under forty. 

Moran wasn’t heavy drinker, though he was sure if he was anyone else he would be. He prided himself on the enthusiastic self-control he held. He ran every single day, and didn’t have more than three beers a week unless he had killed someone. He liked to get plastered after he killed someone. 

He was on his third beer, not even feeling the beginning of a buss, when he felt someone watching him. This was a skill he had developed while being a military sniper in Afghanistan. Extremists loved to hit you when your back is turned because they’re all cowards who pledge their death in the name of god. Only cowards watch you when your back is turned. 

He sat up a little straighter and glanced around. There was maybe about fourteen people in the place, but his eyes fell on the kid in the corner immediately. He was unabashedly staring, holding a small, empty glass in his bony hand. 

Sebastian taken aback first by how ethereal the boy seemed, and then by how goddamn rude his staring was. He felt uncomfortable turning away from the boy, so he kept his eyes on him. 

The CCTV was fine if you wanted to spy on someone, but James was much more of hands on type of guy. Plus, he liked the way Sebastian was staring at him. The second he stood, Sebastian took a long drink of his beer and turned back around. James saw it as a dare. 

He slipped into the barstool next to Sebastian and ordered a beer, even though he’d already had a drink, and wasn’t very good at holding his liquor. He saw Sebastian glance at him out of the corner of his eye and he grinned. 

“Long day at the office?” Normally, he hated how high his voice sounded, but he knew his youth would be of appeal to Sebastian. 

“Do I look like an office man t’you?” Sebastian muttered, barely turning to face the kid sitting next to him. The kid had sat on his left, probably hadn’t seen his scar yet. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scare him away now or later. 

“No,” James answered, boldly reaching out and running his finger along the cuff of Sebastian’s worn plaid button up. It was softer than he had expected, and Sebastian hadn’t tensed or pulled away. “What do you do, then?” 

“Freelance work,” Sebastian answered, finishing up his third beer. The kid had quite an obvious Irish accent. 

“What sort?” 

“Handyman stuff.” Sebastian had absolutely perfected this sort of conversation. He wasn’t a fantastic liar, but this was almost close enough to the truth that he could appear genuine. The ladies like when a man appears genuine, and Sebastian likes to get laid occasionally. 

Jim smirked, his eyes appeared playful and daring. “I might’ve got something you could fix.” 

Sebastian knew exactly what that meant. This kid was flirting with him. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

 

“Yes.” James tapped his fingers on the bar, watching Sebastian closely, “you know the area?” 

“A bit.” 

“I live on Rotherhithe St. Ever heard of it? Right by the river.” Sebastian tensed. He had just been down by there, committing a serious crime. He finally turned his whole head to look at this kid and knew immediately was he was dealing with. The aura of the conversation changed dramatically. 

“Been there once or twice, yeah.” James was pleased at how quickly Sebastian picked up on who he was. 

“Well, if you’re ever in the area again…” James lifted Sebastian empty beer and took the cork coaster that was underneath. He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and scribbled his phone number on the coaster. He slid it across the bar towards Sebastian, “give me a call.” 

Sebastian picked up the coaster and tucked it into his pocket, “will do.” 

James slid off the bar stool, winked at Sebastian, and walked away. 

***

 

It was 9 pm on a Wednesday night when James felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He was in the lab, which was empty. He preferred to do his assigned, menial tasks in the lab after everyone had gone home. He liked to listen to the Bee Gees and titrate. 

“This is Jim,” he said, answering his phone through his ear buds as he slowly opened and closed the separatory funnel. When he didn’t hear anyone on the other end, he pulled his head back out from underneath the hood, “hello?” 

“You told me to call you.” He smiled when he recognized the voice. 

“That I did.” He took a step back to lean on a parallel bench while he took the phone call. “Took you long enough, I must say.” 

“Barely twenty four hours,” Sebastian answered. 

“I’m glad you figured it out,” James said. “It didn’t take you very long, I was very pleased.” 

“You were quite obvious.” 

“I’m not very patient.” He let silence sit over them for a second, “I should be done here in about an hour. Can you meet me?” 

“Where?” 

“Do you know where Imperial College is?” James didn’t wait for a response, “meet me in from of their biggest building at 10 o’clock.” 

 

By the time James and Sebastian were able to meet it up, and had begun to snow. James was bundled in a long dark jacket and a thick scarf. His pink ears stood out against his dark hair. Sebastian nearly smiled, he looked even smaller with a backpack on him. 

James motioned for Sebastian to follow him, “lets get out of snow,” he said. “I live a block away.” 

“You go to school here?” Sebastian asked, keeping a pace behind James. 

He didn’t answer until he buzzed them into his building and he could take his scarf off. They stepped into the elevator and James said, “yes, I’m a student there.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Nineteen.” With the excitement of Gillis’s assignation a couple of nights behind them, James was less inclined to play coy. This was now a business venture, and he needed to appear as serious as he could seem with a backpack on. 

He was on the eighth floor. He led Sebastian into his tiny flat with a flourish, pulling off his long coat and hanging it up. He didn’t offer to take Sebastian’s jacket so Sebastian kept his on. 

“You can sit if there’s a space which allows it.” Jim said, disappearing into the kitchen. Sebastian was a bit confused as to why this teenager was allowing a sniper in his apartment. He didn’t follow the boy into the kitchen, nor did he sit down. There wasn’t space for him to. There was paper or a textbook on just about every available surface. There was no television, but instead stacks of books in every corner. The place was a mess, there were full takeaway containers everywhere, and not a single one of them looked even remotely fresh. 

“Did you say your name’s Jim?” Sebastian asked, still looking around the flat with a slight tinge of horror. James appeared from the kitchen and leaned against the door jam. 

“James,” he corrected. “James Moriarty.” He crossed his arms and looked Sebastian up and down, fully appreciating him. “I was thoroughly impressed by your job the other night.” 

“On of the easier shots I’ve taken” Sebastian answered. It was true. James’ job had required virtually no effort on his part. All he had to do was show up with his gun. 

“Nevertheless.” 

There was silence between them for a few moments before Sebastian said, “why did you bring me up here?” 

“To kill you.” 

Sebastian tensed immediately even though he knew there was absolutely no way this kid could ever kill him, either by brute force or some sort of tactic. 

“Relax,” Jim said, a grin splitting his face. In this light, Sebastian was able to see just how pale the kid actually was. Almost deathly so. “I’m just joking. Veterans,” he fluttered his hand and rolled his eyes, “none of you know how to take a joke.” 

Sebastian wanted to pummel the kid. It would be so easy, his neck would snap right in his hand. 

“You’re no use to me dead.” Sebastian shoved his hands deep into his pockets, not taking his eyes off James. He was on edge, but concealed it well. “How much do you know about London’s underground crime population?” 

“Not much,” Sebastian deadpanned. “I don’t care to do any research.” 

“Everyone knows about you. You’ve worked with the best of them.” 

“I’ve taken hits from anonymous senders,” Sebastian answered. “I prefer not to work with the same person twice, and I don’t care to know names.” 

“Your reputation really precedes you,” James continued as if Sebastian hadn’t spoken. Sebastian noticed that his eyes had sort of glazed over. He was a totally different person than the kid Sebastian had spoken with in the bar a couple of nights ago. “Sebastian Moran. You studied at Eton College and the University of Oxford, which is impressive. You left it behind, however, to serve your country. Valiant, if I do say so. Afghanistan wasn’t difficult for you, though, until you were dishonorably discharged, of course.” Sebastian clenched his jaw while listening to James talk about him. Recite whatever he had read in a file that had somehow been compiled about him. “How did you get that scar?” 

“A tiger.” Sebastian answered evenly, “I hunt for sport.” 

“You’re very well rounded,” James commented, eyes glistening mischievously. “Can I offer you a beer? Some tea, perhaps?” 

“Why am I here?” Sebastian nearly snapped, but managed to keep his cool. “I don’t play games, certainly not with teenagers.” 

James took a few steps forward, crowding into Sebastian’s personal space. Sebastian didn’t move, his eyes followed the boy closely. “Don’t let my age fool you,” James hissed. “I’m lethal. I know how to poison you seven ways to Sunday.” 

“Not very intimidating when the man you’re threatening is twice your size with experience in hand to hand combat.” Sebastian looked down at James, “I can shoot you from hundreds of feet away. Watch who you’re playing with.” 

James snarled but took a step back. “You shot my boss.” 

“You paid me to shoot your boss.” Sebastian corrected. 

“Right. Well, now I’m the boss. I need a body guard and a permanent sniper I can trust.” 

“And you think that’s me?” Sebastian said incredulously, raising his eyebrows. “You just threatened to poison me. I can’t see myself signing Command Papers anytime soon.” 

“Think about it,” James said. “I have money, I have connections. I now run an underground drug empire. I make the stuff, for gods sake. We would be great together. You don’t have a wife, any children. The only time you leave your flat outside of a job is to run in the morning. You live quite a boring life, Colonel Moran.” 

Sebastian grit his teeth. “You’ve been watching me.” 

“Of course I have.” 

“I don’t need money.” 

“But you’re bored. You don’t do anything. Loud noises make you anxious, you hate most other people, you can’t get a real job. You’re ruined, no one will hire you.” When Sebastian didn’t respond James kept going, “I’ll give you 48 hours to think about it.” 

“And if I say no?” 

“Well, I suppose then I’ll have to kill you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to trigger warn for *slight* violence--i don't like to write anything too gore-y but obviously there's going to be some sniping involved. also, Jim is pretty mentally ill, so there will be mention of OCD tendencies, mood swings, self harm, and shitty eating habits. if that stuff triggers you, please don't read!

Sebastian was fantastic at arguing with himself. He’d never had a mother to phone to chat about his dilemmas, he was used to making critical decisions on his own. He talked himself into, and out of, working with James Moriarty many times in the 36 hours before he tracked the kid down himself. 

He wasn’t afraid of death. He figured working for someone with such little experience, he would most likely be killed eventually, anyway. He didn’t have much to live for, and he was fully aware of it. 

Moran joined the military when he was 18. They paid for him to attend school, and he just managed to get his degrees before the he was deployed. He toured Iraq for 8 months, he was only 24. He was calculated and brilliant. He was the best marksman in the British army, and he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. In order to climb up the officer rank ladder, you need to be well liked. By the time he was 28, he was named Colonel and was a Battalion Commander, in charge of about 400 other officers. 

Afghanistan was more exciting than Iraq, but it seemed to affect him differently. He was in charge of so many soldiers, young men who had never seen war before. He hadn’t really seen it either, not from the ground. He was a marksman, hiding in shadows and on top of buildings was where he belonged. He could detach himself from the destruction that he had a hand in creating. Ordering around 400 ground soldiers was a different story. 

He did not move back to London directly after his discharge. He instead went directly to India, where he stayed for two years. His father was a poacher, and before he died he had taken Sebastian along with him on many different occasions to India. Sebastian was amazed by India, by the culture and colours, by the animals and the people. Elephants were everywhere, monkeys, too. It was the tigers that really interested him. 

For two years he sat in trees out in the middle of nowhere in India, waiting for a tiger to come by. He had killed four tigers at his time there. The last one he tried would have been his fifth, had it not completely mauled him to an inch of his life. Once he recovered, he moved to Harrow, a large suburban town right outside of London. 

Excluding tiger number five, Sebastian had never botched a job. He only needed to take one mark in London before word got around that Sebastian Moran, once the greatest marksman in the British army, was hunting humans for sport and not asking any questions. He assumed that it was how James Moriarty found out about it. 

Of course, he was correct. Once James had started working with Gillis, he kept extremely close tabs on every name that filtered in and out of the underground network. When he had first heard of Colonel Sebastian Moran, he was immediately interested. Researching Moran was the final push James needed to start his planning. He needed this sniper, but he wasn’t going to let anyone else know that. 

***

 

“You’re not too difficult to track down.” Sebastian had propped the door open to the lab James was working in. It was around 9 pm, everyone was gone and James was continuing his menial tasks, only allotted to undergrads. 

Sebastian didn’t surprise him, so when he heard the mans voice, he barely looked up from his synthesis. He could see through the glass on the other side of the fume hood, and after a few moments he glanced up. 

“Close the door. It can’t be open while I’m working.” Sebastian stepped into the lab and let the door swing closed behind him. “You could of just called.” 

“I wanted to see what you do here.” Sebastian answered, “what’s your real name?” That made James glance up. He pulled his head out from under the fume hood and looked at Sebastian through slightly fogged goggles. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Richard Brooke, or James Moriarty?” 

James smiled, “Richard is technically my middle name, but it’s what I’ve registered under.” 

“Brooke, then?” 

“My dead fathers last name.” 

“So here, you’re Richard Brooke, lowly little Chemistry undergrad. And in London, you’re…?” 

“James Moriarty, crime prodigy.” 

“Clever.” Sebastian nodded, “though it didn’t take me long to come into contact with your alias. You need to make cleaner cuts between your identities.” 

“You’re here to critique my skills in lying, then?’ Jim asked, pulling off his latex gloves before removing his goggles. Sebastian nearly laughed, the goggles had left a comically red line around the boys eyes. 

“Well, I’m certainly not going to work for someone who’s careless.” 

“Good decision,” James murmured, the beginning of a smile on his face. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come around. And I really hate getting my hands dirty.” 

Sebastian shook his head, “now that, I highly doubt.” 

James approached Sebastian slowly, chucking his rubber gloves in the bin as he went. 

“I’m impressed with your slight detective work to find me here,” James admitted. 

“I’m more than just a pretty face behind the trigger.” 

“Oh, my dear, you are not very pretty.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, after James’ bold face lie. Sebastian was actually very pretty. Despite all he’d been through, he didn't look a day over 25. The scar on his face was enticing, but certainly not off putting. Not to James, anyway. He liked Sebastian’s blue eyes and his sandy blond hair. He liked the way he kept it cut, long at the top and shorter on the sides. Putting it plainly, James thought Sebastian was very good looking. 

“Then why are you checking me out?” Sebastian retorted, breaking Jame’s train of thought. 

“Don’t get an ego,” James snapped. “I’m 19, full of hormones. I’d check out a lamp post if it had a nice curve.” 

“Well, if that’s your type.” 

“We’ll be getting along just fine” James answered. “I have some paperwork you’ll need to sign.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to trigger warn for *slight* violence--i don't like to write anything too gore-y but obviously there's going to be some sniping involved. also, Jim is pretty mentally ill, so there will be mention of OCD tendencies, mood swings, self harm, and shitty eating habits. if that stuff triggers you, please don't read!

James did not sleep, and now that he had someone to bother with his often ridiculous and monuments plans, he took advantage of it. 

3:08 AM  
Did you get my email?  
JM

Are you asleep?  
JM

Wake the fuck up.  
JM

Bugger off, it’s three in the morning.  
SM

Read the email.   
JM  
3:47 AM  
For christ sakes, the most ridiculous plan I’ve ever heard.  
SM

Stop sending me novels and get some sleep.   
SM

What was potentially even more ridiculous than how quickly James took to sharing all of his ideas with Sebastian, was how quickly Sebastian took on the role of protecting James. He had signed a contract stating he would, but he frequently went above and beyond his simple body guard duties. His job was to merely be present in all business dealings, take all security measures, and shoot people when he was asked. What he truly hadn’t realized was how incapable James was at being a human being. 

A month into their arrangement, Sebastian had his first day off. Sebastian was obligated to work for thirty days in a row. This wasn’t very grueling on him, considering that when James was in class, or in the lab, all he had to do was stay in the general vicinity. He found himself sitting in a lot of coffee shops on his laptop. He did quite a bit of research, as James had allocated some of the easier research topics to Sebastian to keep him busy. Frankly, he enjoyed just doing something consistently. At five o’clock, he got to go home but was considered “on call” 24 hours. 

James wasn’t that well known, yet. He was not in need of twenty four hour security, nor did he want someone hanging around him for twenty four hours. 

Regardless, they spent some time together every day for thirty days straight. On Sebastian’s first day off, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He got up at his usual time, went on his usual run, and then sat in his tiny sitting room for a few hours to read. 

It would just so happen that it was on his first day off that there was the first “security breech”. 

Whether this person had been watching James and Sebastian, taking note of their extreme consistency in the schedule, or had just decided on that day at random, was never figured out. The bloke didn’t live long enough for either James and Sebastian to ask. 

Three hours into his day off, which happened to fall on a Sunday, he got a nonsensical text from James. It was a series of letters and numbers that made absolutely no sense, which was why it alarmed Sebastian. He’d never even seen James make a simple typo in his text messages and emails, let alone a message that was complete nonsense. 

It took Sebastian 37 minutes to get from Harrow to where James lived in London if he was abiding by road laws. It took him 28 minutes when he weaved through traffic. 

Sebastian remembered the first time he killed a man with his bare hands because it was completely on accident. He was in Iraq, aiming his gun out the window of an abandoned building. Someone had crept up behind him. The man was wearing a scarf that covered everything but his eyes and the top of his head. It was his sandals that gave him away, though. He scuffed the floor just barely, on one step. The man probably would have got away with killing Sebastian if he hadn’t been wearing sandals. 

It was not Sebastian’s intention to strangle the man with his bare hands. He had been surprised, extremely caught off guard, and only slightly panicked. He was just twenty-two. In fact, it would have been better to bring him back to base alive, for questioning. Instead, he snapped his neck between his hands. He felt a little guilt after wards. Not for killing a man, but for giving up an opportunity to torture and question a man from the other side. Sebastian didn’t file any sort of report, no one knew about it. 

The man in James’ flat was thin and tall. When Sebastian crept through the front door, which was actually left open, the man was standing over James, who was completely passed out. There was a period of about fifteen seconds where the man registered the Sebastian was in the room, and then registered that he was going to die. 

***

When James heard the door to his flat open, he called out from the kitchen. “It’s your day off, go home. I don’t want to see you.” He was taking it as his own day off, as well. He was wearing jeans, something he very rarely did. It was to signify the fact that this was his day off, goddammit. Maybe he’d get down more than a piece of toast. 

When he didn’t hear anything more, he left the kitchen and entered his sitting room. He saw the unfamiliar man, but was much too late. 

He didn’t remember anything after that. 

***

 

Sebastian moved James into his bed and pulled a chair from the kitchen into the bedroom. He sat and watched, waiting for either James to wake up, or for his chest to stop rising and falling. 

He was always quite good at taking care of people, making sure they didn’t accidentally get themselves killed. As soon as he was old enough to remember, he was taking care of his mother. Watching her as she breathed, passed out in the living room. He frequently got up in the middle of the night to check on her, to make sure he could still account for the steady rise and fall of her chest. 

Sebastian harbored very little resentment for his mother at the age he was now. When he first enlisted, however, was another story. He hated her. She died when he was sixteen. When she was alive, Sebastian could take care of her, protect her like the little thing she was. After her death, Sebastian began to resent her and everything she had once done. 

She really liked drugs. Sebastian had tried them, of course, they were everywhere in their tiny flat. She liked drugs, and she would do anything for them. She’d steal for them, have sex for them, spend every last penny they had for them. She was a true addict, and it disgusted Sebastian to no end. 

Growing up in that environment gave him a hell of an addictive personality. He got obsessed with things very easily, but refused to abuse any substances. This was part of the reason why he was so efficient at his job, and also part of the reason he was discharged. 

He claimed to have absolutely no addictions. He chalked it up to willpower, something he developed very quickly at a young age, having to be so independent. It was a source of pride for him, to consider himself “sober” in every sense of the word. No addictions, no vices.

Anyone with eyes can see exactly how incorrect he was. 

***

 

When James finally came to, it was a wrenching headache that woke him up. He groaned, half asleep, and rolled over, pulling a blanket over his head. He peaked out from under the blanket, squinting at the light. He saw Sebastian there and was a little relieved. “Would you draw the blinds?” His voice was full of sleep, raw and low. 

Wordlessly, Sebastian stood up and drew the blinds, blocking light from coming into the room. It was about four in the evening, but it wasn’t getting dark just yet. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“Someone tried to kill you, is what I’ve gathered,” Sebastian answered, sitting back down. 

“What happened to them?” 

“I took care of him.” 

“You killed him,” James corrected. “In my sitting room?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re going to stay.” James said it, firm and without any indication of question. It was an order, disguised as a question, masked with a certain sense of politeness. Sebastian understood. 

“Yes, sir.” The sir had slipped out. Falling back into old habits that Sebastian was highly trained in. It was so easy when someone else was giving the order. 

James raised his eyebrows in response, “sir?” 

“Sorry.” 

“No,” he ducked back under the covers. “I like it.” 

***

 

Sebastian watched James drift in an out of sleep until around 9 pm, when he insisted on feeding him. Sebastian honestly thought James would put up a fight, but he got stood up amicably and rubbed sleep out of his eyes. He led the way to the kitchen, wordlessly. 

“You might have to order takeaway,” he said, opening one of the cabinets, “I don’t remember the last time I bought food.” 

Sebastian opened James’ fridge to find virtually nothing. He had a small carton of creamer, bread, apricot jam, and coffee grounds. 

“Are you telling me you don’t eat?” Sebastian said. 

“I don’t cook.” James pulled a couple of pill bottles down from the cabinet and started opening them and taking them, dry. 

“Should you be taking all those? You probably have a concussion.” 

“Are you my doctor now, too?” 

Sebastian let it go and turned back to the fridge. He grabbed the bread, set on making some toast. 

He hadn't realized how much of a child James still was. On the outside, it looked like he had pretty much everything under control—aside from the messy flat. But everyone was allowed to make a mess in their home. 

And he’d been to uni, he’d seen fridges of other boys. They never looked that empty, and they were never sans alcohol. There was something about it that didn’t necessarily sit right with Sebastian, and he was usually one to trust his instinct. 

James had gotten himself seated up on the counter, his head leaned back against the cabinets. 

“You don’t cook?” Sebastian said, leaning against the counter and watching James closely while the bread toasted. 

“No.” 

“You order takeaway every day?” He asked skeptically. 

“No.” James looked irritated, “don’t be concerned.” 

“I’m not.” Sebastian folded his arms, “I’m confused.” 

James just rolled his eyes, “don’t waste time trying to figure me out. I don’t need another parent, I need a body guard and a sniper. That’s all. The second you feel personally connected to me, the second you jeopardize the efficiency with which you can do your job.” 

“I disagree,” Sebastian answered. “Having a personal motivation in this should make me more dedicated to my job, to keeping you alive.” 

“You need to be able to move on after I die,” James snapped. “If I feel as though you are not capable of functioning after I’m gone, you are not fit for this job. As my second in command, when I die, you become totally in charge. You can’t do that if you’re in mourning.”

“When you-“

“Shut up, before I kill you.” James slipped down from the cabinet and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
